


Daiquiri Waters

by sunaddicted



Series: Riddlebird Week 2k18 [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Beach Holidays, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Holidays, Kidnapping, M/M, Riddlebird Week 2k18, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 06:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: [...]nothing was as uplifting as murder.





	Daiquiri Waters

_Daiquiri Waters_

Oswald peeled his eyes open - a slow and rather excruciating process; he felt like the Bat had beaten him half to death and left him on the dirty pavement of the back alley behind the Lounge to let the cold finish the job for him, effectively killing him without breaking his thrice damned golden rule.

Maybe it was a quite specific scenario but it had happened often enough that Oswald didn't immediately rule it out, even if he really didn't remember running into the Caped Crusader: the Batman was a brute who had no respect for his elders and that was it.

The pure and unadulterated truth - a possibly bitter pill to swallow but Oswald honestly didn't care much.  

And everyone could choke on it.

Oswald groaned and squeezed his eyes shut when a lightening of pain struck him right in what seemed to be the middle of his brain, mercilessly radiating to his temple and nape, seizing his whole head in an invisible chokehold that left him completely breathless and gasping for air.

That wasn't the aftermath of a beating: he'd been drugged.  

Oswald was sure of it, his body reacted spectacularly bad to most the majority of drugs designed to knock people out - and if there was something Oswald knew, it was that drugging people into unconsciousness wasn't in the Bat’s style.  

Too bad, Oswald had been looking forward to yelling at him.  

Excluding most of Gotham's low-lives - only incredibly stupid and suicidal lackeys would even think about abducting him - the only option left was that of the culprit being one of the Rogues.  

Which could be either reassuring or terrifying, Oswald hadn't settled on an option yet: there was too little data to elaborate on any other feeling beyond annoyance that, together with the pain and the nausea, pervaded his whole body - Oswald was royally pissed and if it turned out that one of his colleagues had kidnapped him to force him into attending a party or just for laughs, there would be hell to pay.  

“What the fuck have you given me?” He complained, uncaring about whether his voice sounded particularly whiny: whoever it had been, they knew how vicious he could be and he might have become old but he still could carve a heart out of someone's chest with an efficiency and precision that would would have made any M.E. swoon with envy - or horror.  

“Come on!” Oswald shouted when he received no answer and he was mighty indignant by the fact that he had been left alone as if he wasn't regarded as dangerous. 

Oswald would show them: his fingers were itching for blood and he was sure that it would do a lot whole of good to his dry skin.  

And to his mood in general - nothing was as uplifting as murder.  

Oswald tugged at his wrists to understand what had been used to restrain him and he scoffed when the ropes effortlessly fell to the floor: they hadn't even paid him the respect of knotting them properly!

He stood up, using the chair to support his body as his bad leg cramped and complained at him - as if he wasn't already feeling bad enough - and his back cracked worryingly loud; one couldn't be a criminal _and_ age well in Gotham: it just wasn't a sentence that made much sense.  

Once he felt like he wouldn't keel over as soon as he loosened his grip on the chair, Oswald took a moment to consider that the sunlight pouring in the room was _real_ and not a by-product of post-drug haze, therefore a concerning hint about his location: the sun _never_ shone in Gotham - an hyperbole, of course, but the odds of a nice sunny day in spring were extremely low and anyway the light was way too bright, as if unfiltered by the cloud of smog that usually was draped over the city like a funerary shroud: choking and comforting, a blanket to ward off the chilly of death, drowning it in the artificial scent of wilted roses and ashes.  

Oswald didn't have his monocle on but his sight wasn't so bad that he could mistake anything for a blindingly white beach.  

Definitely not Gotham.  

For the first time since he had woken up, Oswald felt anxiety stirring in his chest like lurid fingers playing into his innards and twisting them in knots: he hated being away from Gotham, too far from his empire to check that everything was running smoothly, that no backstabbing had flowered in the dark - blooming into poisonous parasites he could take care of only with his bare hand.  

His empire needed nurturing and constant attention, he couldn't just _leave_ \- or be taken away.  

A new sense of urgency was pervading him with nervous energy and Oswald opened the door of the room to inspect the building and find the closest exit, so that he could get back to home. It seemed that he had been taken to a villa on the beach, a crystal blue sea framed by the windows and white curtains made billowy by the salty breeze - Oswald would have loved it if he had moved there out of his own volition: as things were, though, he considered himself the victim of a kidnapping.  

Oswald didn't lose any time peering into the closed doors, not wanting to risk being stopped by his captors.  

_He needed to get away._

He forced himself to take a deep breath as he tried to remind his brain that it wasn't possible that he was suffocating; slowly, his lungs unclenched and panic started to recede and the edged of his vision once again came into focus.

He needed a clear mind.  

Oswald grabbed a long and thin vase from a table that couldn't be anything else if not decorative, uncaring of the calla lilies that fell to the floor to wither and gather dust, and went down the stairs, holding his makeshift weapon high; he was ready to strike and while a vase exactly wouldn't have been his first choice when it came to defending himself, it was better than nothing.

How he missed his gun, though.  

Downstairs seemed to be just as empty as the upper floor, but at least there were signs that someone else lived in the house: a book left open on the coffee table next to an empty glass; still damp plates drying by the faucet; a pair of shoes - black loafers, big - lined up against the wall of the entrance hall.

It looked cosy.  

Oswald didn't trust it at all.  

 _Creak_.

As soon as the noise of creaking wood reached his ears, Oswald turned around and swung the vase.

“Os!”

He missed the other man only by a few millimetres “Ed?!”

Edward raised his hands in the air, keeping them wide open so that the other man would easily take in the fact that he wasn't armed and had no intentions of hurting him “I didn't want to startle you, sorry” Edward apologised, offering Oswald a sweet smile “How's your head doing?”

“It's killing me, thank you” the other spat out, adrenaline draining from his system and leaving him even more wrung out than he had when he had woken up. Oswald let Edward take the vase from his hand, even as he scowled up at him “Could you explain yourself?”

“Uh…”

Oswald arched an eyebrow “Elaborate”

“You needed an holiday" Edward said, voice defensive “You've been working yourself to the grave”

“And you drugged and kidnapped me, instead of talking to me?” Oswald held one finger up and punched the bridge of his nose “You know what? It doesn't matter, I want you to take me back home”

“But..”

“Now" 

Edward pursed his lips, trying to avoid saying anything that he might have regretted later: he didn't want to fight with Oswald; his lover needed the rest - he just didn't see it.  Or refused to see it, whatever worked. Edward tentatively got closer to his lover and drew him in the circle of his arms, hugging him tenderly “I promise that your empire isn't going to fall in shambles for four days only" 

“Only?!”

“Only” Edward reassured, kissing Oswald's temple “Getting sick because of work isn't going to do you any good" 

“I'm not getting sick”

Edward snorted “Do you really want me to get more in depth on that?”

Oswald sighed and shook his head “Only four days” he reiterated, fingers tightening on the thin fabric of Edward's hideous Hawaiian shirt “And you let me make calls to Gotham for one hour every evening”

“Half an hour”

“Forty minutes”

“Fine” Edward conceded “But I'll set a timer”

“Deal" Oswald hurried to agree before the younger man could rethink the terms of their accord and try to change them again “So, where are we?”

“Miami”

“Do I want to know how you put me on a plane when I was completely unconscious?”

Edward's grin brightened “No, you really don't” he winked “Come on, let's get you changed into something more comfortable so you can soak some sunshine up: you're not a vampire” 

“Am too" Oswald muttered under his breath but he squeezed the other's hand and let himself be led back upstairs. 

Maybe he really needed a holiday.  

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad with the other man by his side.  

Edward squeezed his hand back.

_No, it definitely would be a good one._


End file.
